


Take a Load Off

by astramaxima (shotgunsinlace)



Category: Sonic the Hedgehog (2020)
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, Glove Kink, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Fantasy, Voice Kink, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:02:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23993461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotgunsinlace/pseuds/astramaxima
Summary: Working for Dr. Robotnik means there's never a dull moment (or any form of privacy) in Agent Stone's life. Even at one in the morning, when his meticulously planned out personal time is suspiciously interrupted by an unnecessary phone call.
Relationships: Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik/Agent Stone
Comments: 26
Kudos: 227





	Take a Load Off

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse.

He goes through the motions like a man half-asleep—which he is, practically a zombie as he climbed the short set of stairs up to his apartment—double checking that he’s locked the front door while toeing off his shoes and nudging them to the side. He drops his keys and work phone on the table in the foyer before dragging his socked feet into the kitchen.

Dinner was hours ago, when he’d excused himself from the doctor’s lab for fifteen minutes to scarf down a meager veggie wrap and chase it with a bottle of kiwi-strawberry vitamin water. 

He had known the night would be a long one, Robotnik blocking out any and all interruptions as he furiously ran his eighty-seventh test attempting to synchronize inorganic energy waves and nano-optics through the usage of high voltage magnetization. In the meantime, Stone felt obligated to micromanage finances and military contracts while sitting through two different conference calls and dealing with an infuriated dignitary who wouldn’t shut up about the doctor having wronged him over something as miniscule as a misplaced drone. It hadn’t been misplaced; Stone had made certain of it.

The workload tripled as the day progressed and Stone dealt with it: filing, talking, emailing, brewing the occasional cups of coffee, fetching whatever tool Robotnik grumbled he couldn’t find. 

He called it a day six hours after the scheduled end of his shift. 

Not the first time and not the last. Schedules were just there to please the HR department that kept a close eye on Robotnik’s work ethic, and as it goes, Stone is the one that deals with those reports. He’s on the doctor’s time, not the government’s, and there is no such thing as a nine to five when he runs the proverbial world so that the man can work in peace. Robotnik has never complained about his extended presence, and he’s well adept at kicking Stone out of the lab whenever he needs time to himself.

Stone serves himself a glass of tawny porto—not a lot, about three fingers, just to work some tension out of his muscles—and drinks while leaning against the counter. He doesn’t nurse it as he normally would given he has to be up and functional in less than six hours, significantly cutting what little personal time he already has. On the drive home he debated on what ritual he would give up for the night and decided he would focus on the more pressing matters.

He considers himself a patient person. Someone who can manage stress levels as well as he manages Robotnik’s paperwork. He is perfectly capable of balancing his (lack of) personal life and his time at work, meticulously maintaining slots for self-training and leisure. A clear head increases productivity, and the doctor likes it when Stone is productive. Almost as much as Stone likes being the reason why the doctor can be productive.

Perfect symbiosis.

Almost as perfect as the doctor himself, with his bursts of aggressive excitement at the cusp of a breakthrough or the explosive vitriol that drowns within zany mannerisms in the face of high-ranking officials that piss him off. Perfect and dangerous, exhilarating, _arousing_.

Stone takes a sip of his wine and sighs heavily, the hand not holding the glass gliding down to hold his dick as it pulses with weak interest through the cheap fabric of his pants.

It certainly has been a while since he last touched himself, too tired to do anything about the constant low-frequency hum of arousal the moment his head hits the pillow. Maybe he can postpone a shower for the morning, get himself off tonight rather than wait for the weekend.

 _Take a load off, Agent Stone,_ the doctor’s voice rings in his mind, eerily clear with its vaguely taunting lilt. _Or blow a load. Whatever it is you’re into. Be my guest._

“Maybe I will,” Stone mumbles, knocking back the rest of the wine before setting the glass down in the sink.

He navigates through the dark apartment with ease: down the hallway and to the left—brush his teeth and wash his face—and then across the hallway into the bedroom, where he closes the door behind him with a satisfying click. Stone leans back against it, surveying the room as he reaches to unbutton his jacket and pauses, disconcerted at the uneven weight of it.

Patting himself down, he finds an out of place bulk in his left pocket. “What the hell?” He fishes it out and then freezes, mind briefly lagging while trying to process what it is he’s holding. “Oh. Oh no.”

A glove. A black glove. A black glove of flexible synthetic material with control pads on its palm.

Stone is two seconds away from devolving into full-panic mode when he manages to collect himself, revealing a picture piece by piece.

First, he didn’t take it. At no point did he slip Robotnik’s glove—only one, to boot—into his pocket. There was no reason to.

Second, he doesn’t recall the doctor taking them off in his presence. Ever.

Third, Stone would have known Robotnik was missing a glove. He would have _heard it_ without any aid from audio devices— _two states over_.

He stares down at the perplexing article, thoughtfully rubbing it with his thumb.

 _Fresh pair of eyes, Stone,_ the doctor had said earlier today, swiveling in his chair until he was hovering behind the agent, signaling at the screens. His knee had brushed the agent’s right leg, barely noticeable, nothing worth mentioning, but it was the very first time Robotnik accidentally touched him. 

Thing is, nothing Robotnik does is ever accidental.

Diversion tactic. Sleight of hand. While Stone focused on the schematics in front of him, mind vaguely analyzing the fleeting bit of contact, he had been too distracted to notice the doctor slip the glove into his pocket. He’d let his guard down.

But, why? Robotnik doesn’t play games of trust or loyalty. One look is all it takes for him to deem someone unworthy, yell at them to get out of his face in a two-second timeframe. It isn’t like him to push buttons that don’t need activating. Unless he was bored, Stone ponders. 

May whatever higher power there is save them all if Dr. Robotnik was ever to get bored enough to play games.

Stone continues to thumb the glove, memorizing the feel of the warm fabric on the pads of his fingers with a quiet sense of longing. This is likely the closest he will ever get to holding the real thing—not that he regularly thinks about Robotnik’s hands, but he has fantasized, once or twice, about massaging them, purely for selfless reasons and not because he’d give short of anything to know how those nimble fingers would feel tugging on his cock.

He sighs. One day he’ll get over this stupid crush, although, crush is putting it lightly. Going on two years, and all Stone can think of is how to be the best agent he can be for his doctor. Wait on him hand and foot, take on assignments that aren’t even a part of the job description, go above and beyond on whatever silly errand he’s sent on, do things before he’s told to, know what the doctor needs before Robotnik even opens his kissable mouth to demand it.

All for a nugget of recognition. Not even praise, he can do without that. A nod of the head is enough, an interested hum, a grateful squint of his eyes.

Stone has been courted with grandiose gestures of romance, crudely propositioned, asked out in perfectly average ways by painfully average people—people he could settle down and live a normal life with. But none of them can possibly ever compare. Robotnik has single handedly undone him without having to lift an eyebrow.

Okay, yeah, definitely a little bit more than a crush.

Stone drops the glove onto the bedside table, next to his personal phone so he won’t forget it in the morning.

He undresses without ceremony, carelessly tossing the pieces of his suit onto his desk chair. He’ll send it to the drycleaners later this week, alongside Robotnik’s favorite coat once he’s ready to part with it for a couple of hours.

Peeling back the covers on the side of the bed he sleeps on, Stone rolls onto the mattress and instantly melts into the cool surface of his worn sheets, stretching his limbs like a cat ready to curl in for a five-hour nap. He lays there, staring up at the dark ceiling and considering just shutting his eyes and letting sleep claim him, call it a day and start fresh come morning. Unfortunately, the damage has been done. He’s horny, and while sleeping with a hard-on isn’t that difficult to achieve, he knows it’ll hinder his efficiency the moment he steps into the lab.

An arm resting over his eyes, Stone reaches down and takes himself in hand. He strokes once, firm at the head and loose at the root, holding at the base to lightly brush his fingertips against sensitive skin. It feels good, but not good enough to keep him from nodding off before startling awake.

He sits up with a frustrated huff, stacking pillows against the headboard and leaning against them, shimming about until he’s comfortable enough.

Stone is careful to keep his mind blank as he jerks off, forsaking lubricant since he intends to be quick about it. No time to draw anything out, he’d rather save the bottle of expensive stuff for when he wants to treat himself to a nice, long session. He does spit on his hand for a little bit of slickness.

He rests his unused hand on his abdomen, idly dragging blunt fingernails against his skin and shivering at the brief tickle. The room is chilly enough to harden his nipples and he almost, almost, reaches up to give them a playful squeeze. He is willing to bet everything he owns that leather pads on synthetic fabric would feel very nice on them.

Stone pauses mid-stroke, staring across the room at his dresser.

He shouldn’t.

The glove wouldn’t even fit him.

 _You don’t have to wear it,_ Robotnik’s voice dances in his ear, eerily casual. _Use that brain of yours. Tell me, how else could you use it? Show me how resourceful you can be._

Stone shivers again, his hairs on end as he considers it. He could get it cleaned. He of all people knows how to remove stains from the doctor’s things.

Robotnik would know.

The doctor would know, and Stone doesn’t think he has the balls to face him if he were ever to know just how emotionally compromised Stone is where he’s concerned. Hell, he actively tries not to think about the doctor—the operative word here being ‘tries’—whenever he has a hand around his dick for this same reason. Let Robotnik unintentionally turn him on, but it doesn’t constitute as masturbating to him if Stone’s not actively thinking about him during the act, right?

Stone sweeps his thumb over the wet tip, appreciating the hot weight of himself against his hand. A little late for the whole not-thinking-about-Robotnik-while-jacking-off thing, now. At this point, what does it matter if he’s analyzing whether or not the doctor would know about how stiff Stone gets whenever he goes into a heated rant and he’s standing by, ready to translate at the drop of a dime while gripping himself in the dead of night. It would be no different than imagining the doctor’s long fingers rubbing and tugging at his cock in search of—

Stone groans, tightening his fist.

Not his fingers. Robotnik’s mouth. How would it feel, wrapped around his cock and sucking the life out of him? Lips stretched taut; eyes watery as he glares up at Stone with a million degrading comments on the tip of his tongue currently busy trailing the vein along the underside.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” he whispers, working himself a little faster before stopping altogether, his breath coming out in heavy little punches.

Maybe, just maybe, Robotnik would rail on him if he knew. He wouldn’t fire him, that much Stone is sure of, he needs him too much. But he would probably knock him around, tell him to pin himself against walls, to crawl on all fours, yank him by his tie until it’s hard to breathe, straddle his leg, hump himself dry on Robotnik’s shoe, ruining his pants.

 _Come ON, Stone. Is that really all you got? Endless possibilities and you decide to play it safe like a good little agent. Crank it up to eleven! Show me what you really want,_ Robotnik taunts in the back of his head, _Show me what you really want to do to me._

Stone sucks his bottom lip, biting down on it as he spreads his legs further apart, hips moving in slow circles when he begins to teasingly stroke his cock again.

What Stone wants is to bend Robotnik over the lab console, slacks gone and coat daintily swept to one side while Stone stuffs his cock deep into Robotnik’s deliciously tight ass. He wants to fuck him so hard Robotnik’s limbs scramble to keep him upright, a battle that is lost when Stone cards his fingers through his doctor’s silky hair and yanks it back, making him squeal like an animal in heat. He wants to fuck his doctor until his voice gives out and Stone blows his load inside of him, pulling out only to watch his spunk dribble down Robotnik’s thighs.

Light from the bedside table catches Stone’s attention, pulling him away from the utterly debauched fantasy with plenty of reluctance.

His stomach flops at the sight of his phone going off, the words GREATEST GENIUS EVER flashing red on the black screen. Stone holds his breath (and his dick) as he watches the call go to voicemail with a sense of perturbed horror.

He knows for a fact he’s never given Robotnik his personal number, but what’s privacy to a man with unlimited control over every electronic device currently on the market. A more pressing matter is why Robotnik would be calling him at nearly one in the morning when Stone had been at the lab not two hours ago.

The phone lights up again and Stone’s sense of duty overrides any other frivolous want.

He taps the green phone icon and says nothing, abruptly pulling his hand away from his lap and fisting the sheets beside him.

 _“You’re awake!”_ Robotnik says, sounding no more tired than he was earlier today. _“Stone, I’ve had a breakthrough.”_

“Doctor, it’s one in the morning.” Stone tries, he really does, to not sound annoyed. “Can’t this wait till tomorrow?”

_“After I took five entire seconds to hack my way into your phone? No. Two-factor authentication exists for a reason. Besides, what’s another hour on your already endless amounts of OT?”_

“I’m salaried,” Stone says.

_“Ah. Since I’m feeling generous, you can take a longer lunch break tomorrow. Now, about that breakthrough. I don’t expect you to keep up with me, but I require a sounding board and genius never sleeps. Did you know—hypothetical question of course—that—”_

Stone mutes his end of the call and sighs, loudly, now that the doctor can’t hear him. He rubs a clean hand over his face as Robotnik rambles at rapid-fire speeds, spitting out jargon laden hypotheses on his latest project to spark a quantifiable consciousness in a machine. He can more or less keep up, despite the doctor’s comment, but he really. Doesn’t. Care. All he wants to do is finish what he started, roll over, and pass out for four hours until his alarm goes off.

But, honestly, who’s to say he can’t do just that?

Glancing at the phone, double checking the little speaker showing a red line cutting through it, telling him the doctor can’t hear anything on his end is still visible, Stone decides to do something incredibly stupid.

He’s being offered a full-course meal with the most luxurious cuts of meat, after all. It’d be foolish of him to not take a bite—and maybe that’s the horny talking (it’s definitely the horny talking) but Robotnik is intruding on _his_ time. It’s only fair for Stone to make the most of his time while off the clock.

Getting himself comfortable once more, Stone can feel the entirety of his body glow hot from the shame, but that’s not enough to stop him from grabbing his cock again and giving it a slow tug as Robotnik continues his tirade of genius.

Pleasure cuts through Stone sharper and deadlier than any knife can, making his thighs quiver and breath hitch into a little moan. He slaps a hand over his mouth, horrified, until he remembers Robotnik can’t hear him. He can be as loud as he wants, say whatever he wants, and the doctor will be none the wiser.

_“—humans are going to project their dumb social roles onto the most refined machines so at this point, WHO CARES?! But there’s another way, Stone. Can you feel it? Because I can.”_

Stone’s head tips back involuntarily, hips stuttering. “God, yes,” he moans around a lascivious grin. “I can feel it, Doctor.”

Robotnik obviously doesn’t wait for an answer, continuing his rambling blissfully unaware of his agent getting himself off to the sound of his voice and—oh, he loves it when Robotnik does the yell-y thing when he’s overly excited about his own brilliant thoughts. The way his words never carry the same inflection, as chaotic as the man himself. One moment a growl and the next a mocking whip, a breathy taunt, a terse demand, always so confident, never precise, never imprecise.

Stone blindly fumbles for the glove on the bedside table. He’s already this far deep, jacking off on an unlawful call with his boss; what’s one more nail in his coffin?

Toes curling, back arching, and mouth hanging open, Stone slides his cock into the cool fabric of the glove and _moans_ so loud he’s sure his neighbors heard him, but who gives a shit? This is as close as he’ll ever get to actually boning Robotnik: his ever-present glove and his voice spewing scientific nonsense at a million miles per second.

It’s enough for now.

Using the glove as a sleeve, Stone strokes himself to the tune of Robotnik discussing the philosophical implications of strong AI being weaponized. How he wouldn’t program it to follow anyone’s orders (except his own), just winding it up and watching it go, Asimov’s Laws being merely a work of fiction in need of testing in a controlled environment and who better than him to do it? To push the boundaries of science. To override socially acceptable scientific protocols. To slide himself onto Stone’s achingly hard cock with violent intensity and ride him until his agent is nothing but a writhing mess underneath him.

_“Are you even listening to me?”_

“Yes! Fuck, yes, I’m listening, Doctor. I’m listening loud and _fucking_ clear,” Stone grits through his teeth, tightening his fingers, stroking faster, uncaring of the rough chafe against hypersensitive skin. He just wants to come and he’s so painfully close.

_“Good to know, Stone. I was starting to think you were distracted.”_

Stone knocks his head back against the headboard as his orgasm rips clean through him, forcing his back into a graceless arch as he milks himself through it with a litany of pathetic hiccups and grunts, maybe the doctor’s name thrown somewhere in there amidst the initial waves for good measure.

The hand not holding his cock glides idly down his chest, taking a moment to feel the rapid rise and fall as he takes a moment to gather his wits. He licks his lips and sighs with euphoric elation, limbs deliciously heavy.

Robotnik is still talking. Circuitry, morality, technology, science, this, and that.

Stone wants to end the call by saying just how powerful the imagination is, how it can hallucinate one’s wildest fantasies into reality. So long as the doctor can imagine it, Stone doesn’t doubt he can bring it into existence.

Sitting up, Stone drops the soiled glove onto the table without a care in the world. He’ll clean it in the morning. Maybe as he takes a shower. Get one more good use out of it before handing it back. He’s seen Robotnik dunk his hands into a bucket of water before, he knows they’re waterproof.

He grabs the phone and two things catch his attention. The first, he’s been on the call for thirteen minutes. That’s a lot longer than he thought he’d last. And, second, much more pressing than the first: the phone is no longer on mute.

Stone stares blankly at the green speaker icon as he feels what he assumes is his soul attempting to leave his body from the sheer mortification. He swallows around the hard lump in his throat two seconds away from devolving into his second episode of pure panic in the past half hour, dumbly pulling the sheet over himself as if the doctor could see him rather than hear him.

_Wait a minute._

He considers asking if his apartment is bugged, but of course it is. The odds of there being some sort of microscopic camera installed in his bedroom are better than forecasting a hot day in Montana. And, really, it all ties into a neat little package Stone can’t believe he didn’t put together the moment he found the glove in his pocket.

 _“Upper left corner,”_ Robotnik says, matter-of-factly, and Stone can envision him inspecting his nails at the console, legs crossed and utterly unbothered.

Stone briefly looks up at the perfectly innocuous wall before turning back to the phone. He tries to speak, but his mouth keeps moving soundlessly as his brain still hasn’t recovered from the throes of what was probably the best damn solo session he’s ever hosted. Despite the uninvited voyeur (that undoubtedly made the entire ordeal significantly better).

“Wait, Doctor—”

 _“No need, Stone. Don’t say I’ve never done anything for you.”_

The call ends.

Stone drops the phone on his chest and buries his face in his hands, horrified beyond words and vaguely turned on still.

The phone lights up with a text message.

**6AM, sharp. In the mood for creamy coffee.**

Stone dies a little inside.

 **And don’t forget my glove.** 💦


End file.
